Plot Holes: Teen Titans, Troube in Tokyo
by Arkhaine
Summary: Robin did all that training and doesn't speak ANY Japanese? This shortish fic explains why! References the animated movie's events, but not really spoilerish.


"Good to be home again!" Cyborg declared as the Titans debarked from the T-Jet, stretching the muscles he had with his arms over his head.

"Yeah…. great," Raven remarked, eyeing the gaping hole in the floor. One of the few results of the battle that had drawn them to Tokyo in the first place, and that they had simply dropped and left behind to begin their investigation.

"All right, Titans," Robin directed, grinning ruefully. "Get some rest, shake off the jetlag, then let's get this place cleaned up."

"Guess the vacation's over, huh?" Beast Boy noted mournfully, shouldering a backpack overflowing with heart-stickered envelopes. "Japan sure was fun… "

"Awww, don't worry, B.B.! We'll be back someday! Maybe by then," Cyborg added, hooking a thumb towards the Tamaranian girl, "we won't need Starfire to translate for us!"

"That reminds me Robin," Raven noted, turning to peer at Robin. "There's something I've been meaning to ask you about. You did all that martial arts training from all those different teachers, and you don't know one word of Japanese… ?"

" ! " All the Titans turned as one towards Robin, who was trying not to look chagrined.

"Yeah, man!" Cyborg piped up. "What's up with that!"

"Not every martial art comes from Japan, you know," Robin muttered.

"No, but at least one does," Raven pressed.

"Yeah, and I _know_ you know more than one, dude!" Beast Boy chimed in. "You know kempo, karate, aikido, jujitsu – "

"How do you know that?" Robin asked, startled. Beast Boy had his strengths, but hand-to-hand wasn't one of them – certainly not at the level to pick out individual styles from the blended freeform Robin used in combat.

The answer came with a rummage in the backpack, a little fan of Gamestation Portable games spreading out through Beast Boy's fingers. More than half of them were martial arts games. "I've seen the way you play!"

" …right." Robin cleared his throat. "Anwyay… I went to learn techniques, not language. That's all."

" ….dude… that's harsh," Cyborg noted slowly.

"And not at all like you," Starfire noted, peering at her teammate with not a little concern. "You have more respect for other cultures than that, Robin." Few appreciated that more than the alien girl.

All eyes were on him still, concern in more than one gaze. They had rarely seen their teammate hedge like that… when he did, it usually meant something either deeply personal, or big trouble.

Robin turned away from that combined gaze, ducking his head. "It…. it's just… "

--

_He kneeled on the tatami with his head bowed, his arm flowing through long, graceful strokes. Feeling every aspect of his soul and spirit flow through his body like a cleansing wind, pouring out though his fingers and into the instrument they held. Completing the ancient, delicate art he had dedicated this moment to._

_Carefully he set the brush aside, picking up the sheet of rice paper and holding it out to his master, a single letter of kanji emblazoned across it in black paint._

_And down came the bamboo pole, smacking the back of his hand and forcing him to drop it. "Wrong!"_

_"Ow!" Robin squawked, shaking his hand._

--

_"You have done well, my student," the aged woman noted, peering intently at him. "You have completed your study of the ancient Seven Flying Cranes fighting style, and in more time than I would have thought possible. It has been a rare joy teaching you, and you have honored this old woman beyond what words can express."_

_"Thank you master," Robin murmured, bowing deeply from the waist._

_"Now if only we could do something about this atrocious Chinese of yours."_

_" . . . "_

--

_"Robin, stop!"_

_"I can do this!" He swiped his arm across his brow, wiping away the sweat that threatened to blind him as he peered at the Russian lettering scrawled across the open manual he was holding. Before him, an outdated computer steadily ticked down a countdown timer for its malfunctioning Cold War-era satellite to fire.._

_" … I've got it!" Robin's finger traced a line of text, then darted up, reaching for the keyboard –_

_-- and another hand reached over his shoulder, gauntleted fingers rapping out a string of code one-handed. Immediately the timer flashed to "00:00" then winked out._

_" . . . " Robin slowly turned, gazing up at the dark-dressed figure that loomed above him._

_"This says 'Fire,'" a gravelly voice noted, pointing down at the line of text Robin had been tracing with his finger. "_This _is the command line for 'Abort.'"_

" . . . "

_"Do I even want to know how your Spanish class is going?"_

--

"It's not _my_ fault I'm bad at languages," Robin grumbled.

"What'd you say?" Cyborg asked with a blink, leaning closer.

"I said, I'm going to my room!" Robin declared, stomping off. Leaving a very confused team staring after him.


End file.
